


Day Time Thoughts

by ScribbleScribe (Sauny)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, can be read as not shippy, violence mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 15:51:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7367863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauny/pseuds/ScribbleScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roadhog gets intrusive thoughts </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>tumblr: http://scribblewrites.tumblr.com/post/146565705139/subject-roadhog-gets-intrusive-thoughts-ship</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Time Thoughts

The day never sat well with Roadhog. Not for reasons Junkrat liked to joke about, and the asshole loved to joke about it. The heat, the sun, the way the dust looked like blood if you tilted your head the right way, all things the bomber had suggested like they could bother him. He’d laughed each time, a tired and sick sounding thing that always left him feeling particularly dangerous afterward, and for some reason the bugger had thought he’d been genuinely amused.

It was the thoughts that he hated.

The day was hot, not that it bothered him, but it was too much for his bike and his boss to handle. The day was for hiding and resting while the sun cooked the already destroyed land outside whatever little shithole they’d picked for a hideaway. Junkrat slept then, when he could, and ‘Hog sat to keep watch. He lived for the moments when it was right to stay up and a scratching noise was a man rather than a lizard, and the danger was real and the scent of blood isn’t just the want to cause it. Right now though, right now there was nothing. Not even a fucking lizard.

He huffed through his mask, resting his head on his palm and tapping the rubber to make some kind of noise. Junkrat wasn’t snoring for once, just sleeping peacefully on the scraps of a bedroll Roadhog had stitched together for him. He’d put a lot of work into making it softer, since the other always complained about feeling the hard ground against his jutting hip bones and his spine. His boss was thin enough as it was, and the fact that the rocks beneath the bag weren’t keeping him up was some kind of talent. How many rocks could he put on him until he was crushed?

He paused, realising he’d stopped tapping and that the silence was back. He groaned and stood, stretching his arms up and shifting until his back wasn’t stiff. There wasn’t much room to walk around in under the overhang they’d found, and he doubted he could go far without Junkrat bolting awake at the lack of him in their little hideout.

He sat back down, leaning against one of the rock walls and fiddling with his rings. There was usually so much noise if he wasn’t sleeping, either the screams and gunfire of the people in his way or the hyperactive chatter and explosive personality of his partner. Before that he’d cause his own noise, or just listen to whatever weird thoughts crossed his mind. Kill that person, shoot that wall, steal the useless butterknife one of his kills had been holding, it was all the same. Now though, he couldn’t exactly do that could he? Not when half of them urged him to injure or kill his boss. His head hit the back wall with a dull thud, another groan escaping through his mask as the silence continued on without any of the smaller Junker’s snoring to interrupt it.

He scratched at his chest, maybe Junkrat was dead; didn’t make much sense for him to be so quiet unless he was dead.

_Bombs_ , he thought, _if he was dead his bombs would’ve gone off._ He looked at the sleeping man and nodded, still in one piece, not dead. He shifted his mask, slipping a hand under it to rub at the bags under his eye. He cursed the heat, cursed the metal of his bike for overheating, and cursed Junkrat’s stupid snore-less sleep that had to happen only when he wasn’t trying to get his own sleep. He stopped when the rolls beside him shifted, pulling down his mask and sitting up straighter to check that ‘Rat wasn’t awake.

He changed his plan when the bomber sat up and gave him that concerned tilt of the head that reminded him of the couples on television when television was still a luxury he had. Junkrat was tired, he could see as much, and his words were slurred when he spoke, “What is it Hoggie?”

He grunted, it was nothing.

“Nah, none of that shit,” He dragged himself closer with his bedroll in his prosthetic hand, “S’it other junkers?”

He shook his head.

“Lizards bothering you? I’ll blow up every last one if they were,” He giggled at that, and it’s more cute than actually threatening when his eyelids were struggling to stay open.

He shook his head again, ruffling the man’s hair to stop him worrying about it. Sure enough, Junkrat waved his hand away and went about fixing his already mussed hair. The fire in it had gone out before he’d gone to sleep and without it he just looked like a sleepy, dirty, beat-up hobo. He chuckled at his own thought, and the smaller junker seemed to take it as a sign that everything was fine.

“Well chuckles, you just tell me if something’s wrong,” He pat ‘Hog’s stomach with his flesh hand, settling down at the back of the wall with him, “I’ve got your back, mate.”

He rumbled, low in his throat, and waited for him to fall back into sleep. Snores soon escaped him, and Roadhog let out a heavy breath and smiled.


End file.
